LateNight Thoughts
by NightingaleLost
Summary: Why do I feel so empty?" Kenny's P.O.V., first person.


I really did write this at 12:59 in the morning. Last night. I did feel empty, but that was because my music player died on me and I had no music. And to anyone that knows me, I live on caffeine (like my beloved coffee addict, Tweek), imagination and music. It affects me too much, some say. But that's enough about me.

This is obviously Kenny, but to those who can't see that, yes, this _is_ Kenny. I'm sorry if this seems too OC, but whatever. Read A Tale of Life, Death and Misconceptions when I put it out. Which is probably gonna take awhile, even though it's already finished. But I'm rambling. This is Kenny McCormick in all his angsty glory.

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own South Park, or any of it's characters. No shit, Sherlock.**

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The room is dark.

Well, obviously it's dark, it's the middle of the night outside. I look at the clock. 12:59 a.m. Huh, I wonder why I'm not tired. Usually I would feel some sort of sleepiness, but not tonight. Tonight, I wish it would rain. That always makes me fall asleep. But then again, do I really want to fall asleep? That dark blank dreamless black of sleep pressing in on me so tightly; it suffocates me. It's too familiar, too similar to the other darkness I feel when I die.

Maybe if I listen to music I would feel better. I don't move. I don't really feel like it anyway. What do I mean when I say I want to feel better? It's not like there's something wrong today. Today is actually pretty calm. So, why do I feel so empty?

Maybe it's Death, finally catching up with me. It'd be about time, too. He never speaks, but I know what he thinks when ever he takes me away. He's always angry, angry that he's never fully able to do his job right with me. I'm the one person he can never truly catch. I wonder why that is. Why do I die? Why do I live? I sigh. This is too heavy to be thinking about at one in the morning. But isn't that what the late-night hours are? To think? Or whatever? So I think some more.

What if this was all some sort of mistake? Like, somehow, God never really remembered to put in a date of final death for me, so I'm just going to keep on dying until he remembers to make that adjustment. What if he never does? What if I live forever? The very thought makes me shudder. Everyone I know, dying over and over again, until I'm the only one left, some sick parody of a horror movie nightmare I'll never wake up from.

Dying always hurts. The physical pain itself is tolerable, I mean, it's just something you get used to after a while, but the metaphysical pain is what really hurts. It always feels like my soul is being torn apart, ripped with brutal strength from my lifeless body. Which it probably was. Death was not gentle. Then came the wait. That short eternity of a few milliseconds where I'm doing nothing, then either a very long fall, or a blinding light. I don't have physical eyes to see, but the light always burns. The fall, though, that's always interesting. Demons everywhere, screaming in agony, flashes of sin and temptation. Then familiar Hell. Fire, lava, gay Satan, yadda, yadda, yadda. Same old thing every time. I just chill (Ha, no pun intended.) until it's my time to go. Then I wake up.

Sometimes I wonder if this entire existence isn't just a nightmare. After all, someone who dies almost everyday, no-one caring, coming back to the same shitty town and distant friends? That's gotta be a nightmare in anyone's book. Sometimes I wish I would wake up. Of course, that never happens. Well, not in the way that I want it to.

I sigh again, getting up slowly. I walk to the window, opening it and letting in some of the cold night air. It stings a bit. But I don't care. After all I've been through, I'm just happy to still be able to feel. Maybe I'll freeze to death this time. Wouldn't be the first time.

As I look outside, I notice just how white the snow is out there. It's so clean and beautiful, so pure and immaculate. So unlike me. Me, who has sinned countless of times, who has already 'been judged and found wanting', who has cheated death so many times it's no longer a game. The snow covers everything, like a blanket, always ready to hide another mar, another bruise, another wound.

I want it to cover me too.

I jump out of my window, landing softly on the field of white. I wince at the cold that nips at my bare feet. Sighing softly, I lie down, shivering violently at the freezing bitterness that bites me. I don't think I'm wearing a shirt. Am I? I look down at myself. No, no I'm not. No wonder it's so much more colder than usual. My shivers get more angry, until my entire body is quaking. I look up. The sky is cloudy, and as I watch, flakes begin to fall. Dancing down to their own death to be forgotten amongst the other whiteness, they fell, and soon the entire sky is filled with the tiny things. I can't see the stars tonight. For some reason that makes me sad. I liked the stars. They always shone so brightly in the face of such darkness. But, hey, the snow isn't such a bad replacement.

After a few moments wrapped in silence, I don't shiver anymore. I can feel my heart slowing down. Oh well. When morning came, I would be gone, no-one would really care because, I always come back, don't I? I wished that someone would at least _pretend_ to care, at least for a moment. But that would just be hoping for too much. I give one last sigh, already drifting away. The snow continues to cover me.

At least I'm getting the sleep I wanted.


End file.
